


if you go out, you might pass out in a drain pipe (don't threaten me with a good time)

by MotherKarizma



Series: here comes the sun [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Drug Addiction, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Substance Abuse, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, but y'all shouldn't be surprised by this next tag i know you saw it coming, completed series, drug relapse, reading the previous works is necessary for context, really truly sorry, there i said it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: This was exactly what Peter had imagined when he dreamed of becoming an Avenger. Spending his days helping people and saving lives. Coming home in the evening to a Tower full of people who were happy to have him around. The road up until now had been rough and uncertain, but everything had finally, finally fallen into place.Peter kept his mouth shut about the bag of heroin beneath his mattress.It wasn’t like he was going to use it.-----Peter runs into an old acquaintance while out on patrol - and it's all downhill from there.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: here comes the sun [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633516
Comments: 58
Kudos: 734
Collections: Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, ellie marvel fics - read





	if you go out, you might pass out in a drain pipe (don't threaten me with a good time)

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE TO NEW READERS: this is the ninth work in a 12-part series! i highly recommend reading the previous works first, then returning to this one, as this work makes little to no sense as a stand-alone.
> 
> i am,,,so sorry,,,,,
> 
> [panic! at the disco - don't threaten me with a good time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOc-oAdEuaQ)  
> \\\champagne, cocaine, gasoline  
> and most things in between  
> i roam the city in a shopping cart  
> a pack of camels and a smoke alarm
> 
> this night is heating up  
> raise hell and turn it up  
> saying, 'if you go out, you might pass out in a drain pipe'  
> don't threaten me with a good time//

_"Incoming call from Mister Stark."_

Peter, mid-swing, jumped a little at the announcement. He had yet to get used to the idea of having an AI in his ear at all times while he patrolled. It was…strange. Welcome, but strange.

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter said as the call connected.

Tony scoffed. “ _Karen?_ You named your multi-million dollar suit _Karen?_ ”

“What?” Peter asked innocently, perching on the ledge of an apartment building. “She sounds like a Karen.”

“I swear, kid. I let you out of my sight for a few hours and you start giving all my tech realistic human names. What’s next? Are you gonna name the toaster Steve?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Peter said. “We already have a Steve. The toaster is Robin.”

“I sincerely hope you’re joking right now.”

“…yes. That was…a joke.” It wasn’t. The toaster was a lovely shade of light blue. Robin suited it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “What’s up?”

“Sun’s gonna set soon, kid. You know the rules.”

Of course Peter knew the rules. Tony had only gone over them about fifty thousand times before handing the suit over. Still, he groaned. “Mister _Stark_. Come on. This is the first time I’ve been Spider-Man in months. Just a couple more hours?”

“Nuh-uh. We had a deal. If you’re gonna go out on patrol alone, you’ll be back before nightfall. No exceptions.”

“But all the serious stuff happens after nightfall!”

“Yes, it does. Which is exactly why you’ll be back in this Tower before then. You have about forty-five minutes before I send out an Iron Man suit to publicly shame you in front of the masses.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“Be safe.” Tony paused. “And – Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really fucking proud of you.”

Peter swallowed hard around a sudden lump of emotion that welled in his throat, blinking a few times. To be honest, he was proud of _himself._

The morning after that night spent curled on the couch with Tony, he’d admitted that the sleep aid wasn’t working quite as well as he’d been letting on. Bruce, of course, had scolded him. _If it’s keeping you asleep when you’re trying to wake up, that means it’s too high of a dosage,_ he’d said, voice brimming with rare exasperation. _Why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s an easy adjustment to make. Give me a few hours and I’ll have it fixed._

Though thoroughly ashamed of and embarrassed by his pointless secrecy, Peter couldn’t deny that sleeping dreamlessly most nights, and being able to wake himself when he did dream, came as an incredible relief. The shadows beneath his eyes disappeared. He gained three more pounds, then four, and then, finally, five, putting him back into an acceptable weight range.

Reluctantly and with a boatload of rules and regulations for him to abide by, Tony stayed true to his word: the new Spider-Man suit was now irrevocably his.

Peter bit back a few tears, born more from a general emotional overwhelm than sadness, and said, “I know. Thanks, Mister Stark.”

Tony coughed. “Forty-five minutes, or Iron Man will bridal-carry you back here like a damsel in distress.”

“ _Call disconnected,”_ Karen said. “ _Taking into account your average speed, Avengers Tower is approximately ten minutes away, giving you thirty-four minutes left to patrol._ ”

“Okay.” Peter sighed. “What can I do in thirty-four minutes? Is there anything on the police scanner, or–“

Down in the alleyway below him, a man shouted, “I said put your fucking hands up! Empty your pockets, now!”

“ _You could take care of that,”_ Karen said helpfully.

Peter dropped down into the alley without hesitation, standing casually behind the back of a man who held his shaking hands high. Over the victim’s shoulder, the gunman caught sight of him.

His eyes widened. The gun clattered to the ground. “Holy shit. You’re – I’m not–“

“Not trying to mug an innocent, unarmed civilian?” Peter cocked his head. “’Cause it kinda looks like you are, dude.”

Before he could even raise his hand to begin webbing up the perpetrator, the guy took off, leaving his gun abandoned on the ground. Peter considered chasing after him – he had no doubt he could catch a single, unenhanced person with ease – but he didn’t see much of a point. If the man was scared so easily by a teenager with a few cool party tricks, it didn’t seem likely that he’d be brave enough to mug someone else without a weapon to hide behind.

Instead, he placed a gentle hand on the victim’s shoulder. “Hey – it’s okay. He’s gone. Are you alright?”

The man turned. Peter blanched, immediately dropping his hand and staggering back a few feet.

“Damn.” Tabar smiled and whistled, low and impressed. “They weren’t shitting me, Parker. You’re actually a fucking _Avenger_. I’ll be damned.”

Peter clenched his hands into fists at his sides to stop them from shaking, and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Did that guy take anything from you?” He asked coolly.

Tabar shook his head. “Just caught me off guard–“

Peter cut him off and said shortly, “You should be more aware of your surroundings. I might not be around to save you next time.”

“Like that pussy would have actually pulled the trigger. You see the way he took off? Nah. He’s just a fucking bully.”

Peter looked at Tabar’s hands as he lowered them. He’d assumed, naturally, that it was the fear of being held at gunpoint which had made them shake. It wasn’t. Tabar didn’t seem like he’d even been all that scared, and they still shook anyway. The man’s pupils, too, were blown wide.

He didn’t need to ask why Tabar had been hiding in a dark alleyway to begin with. The answer was blatantly obvious.

“Be more careful,” Peter said as he stooped to pick up the gun, emptying the chamber and stuffing the unused bullets into his suit’s pocket.

Tabar raised a brow. “I’m still dealing, you know. You’re not gonna call the police? Turn me in?”

Peter paused, not looking at him. “How would I explain why I knew you were a dealer?”

“Maybe cause I’m giving you this.”

The man tossed a small baggy of powder onto the ground in front of him. His heart skipped a beat. “What is that?”

“You know what it is.” Tabar smirked. “Consider it a thank you gift. You know – for saving my life and shit.”

Peter could have said or done a million things in response to that. He could have tossed the ‘gift’ back in Tabar’s face and chewed him out for perpetuating New York City’s heroin epidemic. He could have actually called the police and turned him in. He could have done nothing and pretended their paths had never crossed.

Against his better judgment, Peter picked up the small bag, put it in his pocket along with the discarded bullets, and said numbly, “Thanks.”

“If you need more, you know where to find me.”

With that, Tabar turned and left, the stagger in his step only confirming Peter’s suspicions.

It wasn’t like he was actually going to _use_ the stuff, of course. He wouldn’t betray Tony’s trust like that. It was just…nice to have. Nice to know it would be there, just in case.

“ _Mister Stark is requesting your presence at the Tower,_ ” Karen said in his ear, simple and chipper, and if she saw anything wrong with the exchange she’d no doubt heard every word of, she didn’t indicate as much. “ _He says,_ _‘Natasha made okroshka. Get your ass home or I’m eating yours.’_ ”

Peter inhaled deeply and exhaled in a shaky gust. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m on my way.”

It wasn’t like he was actually going to use it. Of course he wasn’t.

Nobody needed to know.

* * *

“How have you been sleeping?” Bruce asked as Peter shoveled spoonful after spoonful of okroshka down his throat, Tony staring across the table at him in morbid fascination.

“Good,” Peter said – or tried to say around a mouthful of food.

Tony wrinkled his nose. “Jesus, kid. Give yourself a second to breathe. I don’t really feel up to preforming the Heimlich tonight.”

Peter gave him a deadpan look. “It’s _soup_.”

“Ever heard of secondary drowning? It’s a thing. Look it up.”

“And you’ve been able to wake yourself from nightmares without any trouble?” Bruce continued, pointedly ignoring Tony’s mother-henning.

“I haven’t really been having any,” Peter said honestly and shoved another spoonful into his mouth. “ _God_. Can Natasha make dinner every night?”

“No,” Tony said quickly. “All this Russian stuff is great and all, but her pizza’s shit.”

“You just think that because all the toppings are vegetables.”

“Broccoli does _not_ belong on pizza. End of discussion.” Tony leaned back in his seat. “My perfectly reasonable food aversions aside – first day back on patrol? How’d it go?”

Peter shifted and took another bite, slower this time. “It was – good. Really good. I missed it, you know? I missed being able to help people.”

Bruce smiled, a sort of proud twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure you did.”

Peter told them all about it as he polished off three full bowls of okroshka: helping an elderly man cross the street, stopping a grand theft bicycle in progress, the sweet old lady who’d asked for directions and then bought him a churro as thanks.

The only thing he kept to himself was the _other_ gift he’d received, now hidden securely between his mattress and his box spring. He didn’t see the point in sharing that. It wasn’t like he was going to use it.

Nobody needed to know.

* * *

With the exception of grabbing breakfast before he left and swinging back by the Tower for lunch, per Tony’s three-meals-a-day rule, Peter spent the entire next day patrolling, and the day after that, and the day after that. He returned home – _home_ , this was _home_ – at dusk every evening with a smile on his flushed-pink face, and gladly gobbled down several helpings of whatever was for dinner, much to Bruce’s delight. Then he hung out in the common room for a while, laughed and watched TV and enjoyed the company of the rest of the team, before falling into bed, exhausted enough from all the hard work that his sleep was always dreamless.

 _This_ was exactly what Peter had imagined when he dreamed of becoming an Avenger. Spending his days helping people and saving lives. Coming home in the evening to a Tower full of people who were happy to have him around. The road up until now had been rough and uncertain, but everything had finally, _finally_ fallen into place.

Peter kept his mouth shut about the bag of heroin beneath his mattress.

It wasn’t like he was going to use it.

* * *

_“I’m picking up something on the police scanner,”_ Karen said.

Peter paused on the roof of Delmar’s shop. “What is it?”

_“Domestic disturbance in progress. A woman is holding her husband at gunpoint. Police are ten minutes out. You could be there in five.”_

Without hesitation, Peter jumped back into action. “Take me to them.”

* * *

“Ava. Honey. Just put the gun down, alright? Let’s talk about this.”

They stood in broad daylight on the front steps of an apartment complex. The woman – Ava – stood several paces away, revolver leveled with the man’s head. The man spoke with forced calm, but his eyes were wide and his voice shook, and–

 _God._ Peter flinched. A toddler squirmed in the man’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder. That made an already bad situation infinitely worse.

He approached slowly, by foot rather than by web, afraid swinging dramatically onto the scene might startle this woman named Ava into pulling the trigger.

“Hey, guys. Everything alright here?”

The man, too, seemed to understand that sudden movements were in neither his nor his child’s best interest. He turned his head slowly to look at Peter. His expression practically screamed, _help, help, help!_ “Not really.”

“Everything’s fine,” Ava snapped, a crazed sort of look in her eyes, and she swayed in place. Peter winced as the smell of hard liquor wafted toward him. “Seriously, Cory? Spider-Man? Do you have any other secret friends I should know about?”

“I didn’t call him here. And Lisa isn’t a secret friend – we’ve known her since high school.”

“I don’t give a shit how long we’ve known her! Like hell are you taking my daughter away from me, let alone taking her to that slut!”

“Chloe shouldn’t have to see you drinking,” Cory said reasonably. “I was going to bring her back in the morning, once you were sober.”

“How fucking _stupid_ do you think I am?!”

“Whoa, hey,” Peter said, and tried hard not to flinch when Ava turned the gun on him, her finger wrapped around the trigger and her entire arm trembling. “Maybe Cory’s right. We don’t…we don’t need the gun, okay? Let’s just talk like civilized people. Alright?”

She turned the weapon back to her husband and blinked a few times. “Give me Chloe, and I’ll put the gun down.”

Cory said slowly, “Put the gun down, and I’ll give you Chloe.”

In the distance, Peter heard the faint sound of approaching sirens. He was thankful both for his enhanced hearing and for the fact that the person wielding the weapon in this scenario _didn’t_ have enhanced hearing.

“How about,” Peter said, “you give _me_ Chloe, yeah? And then we’ll put the gun down, and–“

Ava snapped toward him again. “Don’t you fucking touch my daughter!”

“Whoa, whoa, okay!” Peter held his hands up, hoping the gesture would give off a less confrontational vibe. His suit was specialized to keep him safe, but it was by no means bulletproof – and neither were Cory and Chloe. “Okay. I won’t touch your daughter. How about you give me the gun instead? Give me the gun, and I won’t call the police–“ could they hear the sirens yet? Judging by Ava’s lack of visceral reaction, he assumed not. “–and we’ll all just take a breather for a minute, calm ourselves down. Sound good?”

Ava hesitated. For a moment, Peter thought that, by some rare stroke of luck, she was actually going to comply.

Then the sirens grew louder, and her expression grew hard.

“Fucking _liar!_ ” She spat.

Peter tried. He really did. She turned the weapon back on Cory, and her finger tightened around the trigger – whether intentionally or unintentionally, he couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter, in the end, whether she meant to or not. The end result was the same.

Peter shot a web toward her hand a millisecond before the deafening gunshot resounded. Ears ringing and heart racing, he yanked hard, changing the weapon’s direction at the last moment.

In a way, they were still lucky: a bullet that would have been a fatal headshot instead struck Cory in the leg. He fell to his knees, the child in his arms _screaming,_ as Peter shot another web to restrain Ava against the concrete.

“Oh, God,” Peter said faintly as he approached the man, pulling the toddler from his arms and ensuring she was unharmed before turning his attention to the bloodstain steadily growing on the man’s jeans. He ripped Cory’s jacket off his torso and pressed it hard against his thigh, flooded with guilt when he responded with a pained groan. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

“Chloe–“ The man gasped and threw his head to the side, eyes searching desperately. “My daughter–“

“She’s fine.” Fine was relative. Physically, the little girl was unharmed. But mentally? He had no doubt she’d be referencing this moment in therapy twenty years from now. She cried hysterically on the ground beside them. Ava screamed strings of angry swears as she tried to free herself, to no avail. “It’s fine, she’s okay. You’re daughter’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Cory was marginally calmer now that he knew his child was safe, but his face was still all screwed up in pain and Peter _couldn’t breathe this was all his fault._ “You saved my life. You – you saved my daughter’s life. Y-you’re a good man.”

He really, _really_ wasn’t.

* * *

Tony rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back. “How are you feeling?”

Peter pulled the blanket tighter around himself and shrugged.

“Been better,” he said honestly. “That was…”

“I know,” Tony said. “You did good, kid. Things could have ended a hell of a lot worse if you hadn’t been there.”

That was true, Peter had to admit. He shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t been there to turn the gun away from Cory’s head at the last second, or if – God _forbid_ – Ava’s shaking hand had caused a stray bullet to hit little Chloe instead.

But he wouldn’t say he’d done good. _Good_ would have been defusing the situation before any bullets were fired. _Good_ would have been convincing Ava to hand him the gun. _Good_ would have been everyone walking away from the scene unscathed.

“Yeah,” Peter said tiredly, and leaned his head against Tony’s shoulder as the man settled on the couch beside him, both sets of eyes staring unseeing at the glowing TV screen. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Guess?” Tony said too lightly for the lightness to be real. “You don’t have to guess. I’m always right.”

_You’re a good man._

Good men didn’t keep secrets from their families. Good men didn’t allow others to trust them, knowing full well that they were untrustworthy. Good men didn’t hide heroin under their mattresses.

Peter closed his eyes.

Nobody needed to know.

* * *

That night, Peter dreamed of orphaned toddlers and dead men, dead toddlers and grieving fathers. He woke, gasping, with tears on his face.

“You appear to be in distress,” FRIDAY said softly. “Would you like me to alert Mister Stark?”

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Peter shook his head and drew his knees to his chest. It was miracle Tony actually slept nowadays rather than killing time in his lab until the early hours of the morning. He wouldn’t be the one to ruin that. “No, don’t wake him. I’m fine.”

Peter thought of the heroin just a few inches below him and leaned back against the headboard.

It wasn’t like he would actually use it.

* * *

Tabar, by some stroke of luck, ran into Peter as he stopped in an alleyway to catch his breath after chasing down yet another armed assailant.

“You look like you could use this.” Another baggy was tossed at his feet. Peter stared at it and exhaled slowly. “Last freebie – take it or leave it. Next time, you’ll have to pay.”

He knew exactly what Tabar was doing, of course. The man was manipulating him, trying to draw him back into using so he would pay him for more and more and more. Maybe he thought Peter had unlimited access to Tony Stark’s funds, or an allowance, or something along those lines. Maybe he thought his gifts and freebies would make Peter a loyal customer.

But it was stupid to turn down free things, right? It was rude to reject gifts.

Peter pocketed it. “Thanks.”

Nobody needed to know.

* * *

The sleep aid no longer kept Peter trapped in his nightmares – but it didn’t stop him from having them, either.

Little Chloe looked up at him with wide, sad eyes. “Why did you let my daddy die?”

“Some hero,” Cory spat. “You couldn’t even save a two year old. Who the hell do you think you are?”

May and Ben held each other close and stared at him, the betrayal clear in their eyes. “Why did you leave us all alone, Peter? You could have saved us. You weren’t there. Why didn’t you save us?”

Peter woke with a start, denied FRIDAY’s offer to alert Mister Stark, and cried.

* * *

He stumbled into Delmar’s shop in his civilian clothes, suit in the backpack slung loosely over his shoulders, running on two hours of sleep.

“Do you sell lighters?”

* * *

His veins were hungry, begging, crying out to him for relief.

Who was Peter to deny them sustenance?

* * *

Something was wrong.

Sure, the euphoria was there. It thrummed through his body, just as warm and pleasant as he remembered it, and it felt like welcoming an old, long-lost friend home. It felt like a soft embrace. It felt like love.

But – but his ears rang, and his head was fuzzy. Fuzzier than he remembered it being when he was high, anyway. He couldn’t string any words together, couldn’t make sense of the world around him, the blurred shapes of dumpsters and bricks fading in and out.

And he couldn’t get off the ground. Peter lay on his back and stared blankly upward. His hands moved, but it took every ounce of strength he had left in his body and, in reality, he realized after a moment, his fingers were barely twitching.

Something was wrong.

He needed to get to his phone, buried somewhere in the backpack he’d abandoned several feet behind him. This was stupid, _stupid,_ he shouldn’t have done this. He needed to call Mister Stark.

Something was _wrong._

He was so tired, though. So unbelievably, insatiably tired. Would a short nap hurt? No, of course not. He closed his eyes.

 _Come home to us, Peter,_ Ben and May said, happy tears in their eyes and arms open wide. _We’ve missed you, baby. Come back to us. Come home._

Peter did.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry AAHHHHH i'm sorry


End file.
